All the cool kids got their launching licenses at 16. The really precocious ones, the ones who smelled like private school cardigans and clove cigarettes, they were launching at 15. She had privately dared on 15 but the mission was aborted when the dorm mistress caught her sneaking out of her room with a stolen spacesuit. Somehow the time when the mere thought of heights made her dizzy had gone by in light years. Things had changed fast in launch school; by the time she was 14 she already knew that she would be a Maverick and not a Wingman.

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